Lessons
by Javanyet
Summary: Love and war: neither one asks your permission. Mercenary Ham Tyler and computer geek Angie Harper discover something in one another that just might balance the chaos of war. - This was taken down for 1 year per a zine publication agreement, but the exile time is up so here it is again... the events happen after Ridealong and before Best Laid Plans.
1. Firing distance

The tactical guys had some time to kill until the "Geek Squad" concluded its planning meeting in the week before the next raid. Application parameters, copy codes, bridge interfaces… it was enough to give the "direct intervention" members of the rebel camp a bad case of twitchy trigger fingers.

Ham Tyler wandered into the saloon to grab some coffee. Weird place, this old Hollywood set where they'd just set up the new camp. He felt like he should be carrying a six gun instead of a Beretta. At the end of the bar was Mike Donovan, a.k.a. (do)-Gooder, the third member of the triumvirate that included scientist Robert Maxwell, doctor (okay, med student) Juliet Parrish that had managed to keep this raggedy group alive since the invasion. Tyler worked with Donovan and coordinated tactical strategy and materiel procurement. Okay, not "worked with", barely tolerated. Despite having to deal with such rank amateurs, they'd managed to put together a tight little squad, weapons runners and strike force combined. The Geek Squad included Angie Harper, the library computer tech who'd fallen into Tyler and buddy Chris Farber's path (and van) en route to this little corner of Hell-A. She was, Tyler was beginning to realize, threatening to become a permanent member of the closed, locked, and moated keep that passed for his life. Okay, not "threatening"… but he couldn't come up with another word for it. Not yet.

Right now Tyler could see that Donovan was in the pseudo-saloon for much the same reason as himself, to kill time between killing more lizards. And, apparently, to empty the coffeemaker of the last cup.

"Leave some for the real soldiers, Gooder."

"Good morning to you too, Tyler. I'm making more. House rule: whoever empties the pot fills it."

Ham gestured, limp-wristed, and deadpanned, "Oh _thank_ you, I'd hate to violate Resistance etiquette!" He waited for the coffee to run and then filled a nearby mug with it, black. Joining Donovan at one of the few intact tables he inquired with wide-eyed innocence, "Do I have to sign the mug out, or will you trust me with it?"

Mike slammed his mug on the table. "You wanna give it a rest, Tyler? I'm sorry I pissed off your girlfriend last night."

And a _long_ night it had been after having to pack up and race to this new location. Donovan had made the mistake of trying to hurry Angie's careful packing of the computer equipment by implying that she didn't understand the urgency of the move. She had returned smartly that if it wasn't done properly they might as well just leave it behind as trash, "and if that happens, the others might wanna do the same with you." She'd informed Tyler after their arrival at the movie ranch, "That 'Gooder' friend of yours, he seems like he's on the right side and all but he's kind of a pain in the ass, isn't he?"

Swallowing a smile as he remembered the conversation, Tyler swilled from his mug and grunted, "She's not my girlfriend."

"Whatever. The point is we're all at least trying to be on the same side. I'd appreciate it if all I have to dodge are the Visitors' shots, okay?"

Point scored, Ham offered a smug smile. "Oh well, if you'd _appreciate_ it…" He relented when Donovan rolled his eyes and rose to leave. "Okay, okay, Gooder, truce called. I don't know how you've gotten this far with such a thin skin." Tyler glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the back room where the meeting was going on. "I hope this works. I'm all for technology, but I'd rather see it devoted to the direct approach." Communications, and weapons.

Donovan shrugged. "Maxwell and Julie know more about this stuff than I do, but the way your girlf-" Tyler's glare made him change direction, "the way Angie described it, it makes sense."

"If she can pull it off."

"Well we'll know better after we copy that pass and get it back here. With Willie's help on the Visitor language symbols it shouldn't take her too long to figure it out, if she's as good at this as she says." Donovan looked uneasily at Tyler, who did not leap to the defense of his not-girlfriend's skills. "You're not exactly offering a ringing endorsement, Tyler."

He sat back and gestured with both hands, "I don't know any more about what she can do than you do. The equipment we've been carrying,"

Donovan cut him off with a smirk, "Yeah, I know… more designed for the 'direct' approach."

* * *

"Angie, this is Willie. He's a Visitor who's joined us." Julie's introduction was tempered by the knowledge of the newcomer's possible reaction.

Angie looked closely at the sweet-faced, curly headed guy who sat uncertainly between Robert and Julie. She'd noticed him since her arrival, and had written off his odd speech and behavior as "slow". Now she understood he was out of his element, but wasn't convinced that his new allegiance was genuine.

"Hi, Willie. I'm from Boston." She added pointedly, "It's not there anymore."

Willie nodded. "I am sorry you have been de-homogenized." He waited, and noted the perplexed expressions of the other three. "You have lost your home," he continued, "as have I. But you did not do so by choice. I am defamed that members of my species have farmed you."

Neither Robert nor Julie attempted to explain. Finally Angie responded, "You mean you're ashamed?" In spite of his mangled vocabulary, Willie's downcast expression said it all.

"Yes," he told her, "I am 'ashamed'. We are not all like this, wanting to destroy your planet. There are others like me. We must hide, and do what we can to help. We _want_ to help, though it is not sleazy."

"You mean 'easy'," Angie told him with a smile. "I'm sorry too, Willie, nobody should have to walk away from their home and people to do the right thing."

"Robert and Julie have told me that I can help you to understand our language and technology, so you can do what you said is possible. To scam our asses."

Angie looked at her three new compatriots and laughed out loud. "You're righter than you know, Willie. If I can learn what you're willing to teach me, we can even scan your passes, too."

"When can be a good time for us to begin?" Willie inquired.

Angie looked at her watch, newly acquired along with second-hand clothing and other necessities. She didn't want to know who had owned it previously, or what had become of them.

"Well I kind of have an appointment now with another 'teacher'," she told him. "How about I look for you when I get back?"

He nodded agreeably. "I will be easy to fund," he assured her.

"You mean easy to _find_, Willie," Julie corrected gently. "If you can't track him down, Angie, come get me. Robert and I will be here all day running tests." They'd managed to set up a new lab using the generators they'd gotten from the hospital and the fuel that Ham and Chris had gotten from places she didn't care to inquire about.

"Sounds good," Angie agreed, "and hey Willie, you help me with your language, I'll help you with ours."

Willie smiled and nodded, declaring, "Sounds like a good eel, Angie."

Tyler intercepted Angie and Willie as they exited their meeting together.

"Okay, geek hour's over. Time to learn how to save your own ass, and maybe somebody else's." Tyler didn't try too hard to sound reasonable. He had great appreciation for how important computer-driven technology was, but he wasn't in the mood to hear Angie argue again that she didn't need to learn how to fire a weapon. _Everyone_ in this band of random guerrillas knew how to shoot _something_, even if they needed some proper training and discipline. True to his word, he'd been standing outside the door when the initial planning discussion of what Angie could contribute to the art of B & E at the lizard food processing plant concluded. Nobody was happier than he was that getting in _might_ be a whole lot easier than they'd planned, if her computer fudgery worked. But certain imperatives could not be ignored.

Angie looked uncertainly at Ham, then at Willie. After some initial hesitation (after all, his kind had removed her home city from the map) she realized this Willie wasn't any more a storm-trooper than some of the kids forced to serve in the German Army in WWII. Victims of circumstance existed on all sides.

"It is all right, Angie. Like we agreed, we will we begin your lessons later." Willie nodded his agreement toward Ham, whose trust he was still trying to gain. It was not an easy task. "He is right. The fence is extremely important."

Ham swallowed a snort of derision. "See, even Willie knows." _The lizard dipshit_ Ham thought to himself. "_Defense_, the kind that goes bang and makes 'em drop, that's what keeps you alive to crunch your codes."

"Okay, okay! But if I blow your head off by accident don't come crying to me."

Willie looked puzzled as she trudged down the hall toward the exit door. He looked at Tyler, who at least appeared satisfied to have won the argument at last even if he didn't appear grateful for Willie's help. "But how will you 'come crying' if she blows your head off?"

"Shut up, Willie," Tyler grumbled as he followed Angie outside.

The "firing range" was an old concrete culvert that ran by a long-disused access road. When they reached a locked grate in the cement wall Tyler took out a key, undid the heavy padlock, and dragged out a duffle containing a variety of pistols and other small arms and ammunition.

"Let's keep it simple," he muttered, and pulled out several light-to-medium calibre automatic handguns. When he straightened and turned around, he was greeted by a hard look.

"Why do you have to be so nasty to Willie? He really seems like he's one of them."

He spat out the snort he'd swallowed earlier. "You got that right. He's one of _them_." When she shook her head and prepared to disagree Ham thought, _shit, this is going to be a long day._

"That's not what I meant, I mean he's one of _them_, the Resistance. He's here to help. He walked away from his own life to do it."

Tyler's voice was harder than Angie's look. "Yeah, me too. Now I brought you here to shoot targets, not shoot the shit. And the sooner you think of 'them' as 'us', the better."

"_You_ don't think of them as 'us', why should I?"

He didn't look at her as he snapped a clip into each of the pistols one at a time. "Because you're closer to being one of them than I am. Now can we get started?"

She didn't budge. "Willie's gonna teach me Visitor language symbols, so I can find more ways to get around their security and weapons. I know it's not as exciting as making something go 'bang' but in the long run it'll pay off, and more than one dead Visitor at a time. Why are you so set against learning more about them?"

Now Ham dropped his hands to his sides and gave her a level, painfully patient look. "I thought you didn't ask questions."

"Yeah, well in this case I'll make an exception. Because if I can suck it up and learn how to shoot, _you_ can suck it up and learn enough about these 'lizards' to maybe give us a better way to fight them."

"And you think that screwball Willie is the one to teach me, right?"

"You see any other friendly Visitors around willing to share their secrets?"

_Christ, he pulled me into a verbal pissing match without even trying._ She _hated_ that, nobody else had been able to _find_ her buttons so regularly, let alone play the Minute Waltz on them like Ham Tyler could, and it had gotten so she just couldn't keep her mouth shut once he got started. Donovan was easier to snap back at, but for some reason she didn't want to give Tyler the satisfaction.

"You ever think you might just be a little too _trusting_ for your own good?" he asked her then, with that raised-eyebrow "listen up" look.

Angie took a step closer and looked him in the eye. "Yeah, for about two weeks now. So show me how to kill a man at forty paces, or whatever this thing can do, so I don't have to listen to your Soldier of Fortune riff any more." _Zing_. His face tightened as if she'd flipped a switch. _Hey, this could be fun._ She wondered for a moment how wise it was to piss off an armed mercenary, then figured someone who'd kissed her like he had probably wouldn't shoot her just for smartassing back at him. It seemed to be what he'd been looking for, in fact.

"Fine." He stuck a gun in his belt and held out his hand, palm down. "Extend your right hand, make a fist," he demonstrated with his other hand and stepped back a foot or so, "shoulder height, like you're sighting along your thumb."

When she did what he'd asked he instructed, "Okay, lock your wrist, and lock your elbow, but not out straight." She did it. "Now, hold that," and he smacked his hand up hard against the underside her fist.

"Ow! What was _that _for?" She surprised him by ducking back dramatically as if expecting another blow. Tyler pretended not to notice.

"Calm down, I'm checking your strength to see what you can handle. Automatic weapons have a real kick. Okay, do it again."

Angie clutched her hand protectively against her stomach. "I don't think so. I didn't know learning to shoot involved getting beat up by the instructor."

Tyler noticed she actually looked spooked. Maybe he _was_ being a little too hardass.

"Lemme see," he reached for her hand, "_c'mere_," and he stepped closer and pulled it to where he could look at it. "You're fine." He let her hand go and watched as she shoved her first reaction back inside.

"Yeah, I've had worse."

He didn't want to know what that meant. "Here, just hold it out, and try to hold it steady. I promise I won't hit you again." He leaned closer. "Okay?" She nodded, and held her hand out again. This time he put his hand underneath hers and applied pressure in a couple of upward jerks. "Okay, I think I know what'll work."

As Tyler selected one of the smaller-calibre pistols Angie asked him, "You go through this with all the others?" She knew he and Chris had been leading some training drills.

"Nope. Just the real rookies. And believe it or not you seem to be the _only_ one." He handed her the gun and she held it the way she figured she was supposed to. It wasn't particularly heavy or dangerous-feeling.

"Good, just like that." He paused. "You gun-shy?" He'd met plenty of people who were afraid of the noise for one reason or another – usually because they'd been shot, or close by when someone else had been.

"Depends on what you mean by that."

Tyler rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a 'no'." He jogged about 20 feet away and set up some small rocks in a row on the raised concrete ledge that ran along the culvert, then returned to where Angie was standing.

"Stand like this." He turned her to face the "targets", "Stand a little wider, not too much," he got behind her and nudged her feet apart with his toe. "Okay, right arm out like you did before, don't grip too hard but lock your wrist." He touched her shoulder, straightened her arm a bit, then held her wrist to gauge her grip. "Now with your other hand, just support your gun hand." He reached around in front and guided her left hand to cup it under her right.

She couldn't help but notice his total lack of opportunism, remembering the guys in the bar where she used to work during college, the ones who "taught" the girls to shoot pool by plastering themselves behind them and grabbing every body part they could reach. She'd have been grossly disappointed, not to mention mightily pissed off, if Tyler had tried those juvenile kinds of moves. As it was, he stepped back an inch, left hand resting lightly on her left hip and the other barely touching her right shoulder. "Okay, look along your arm and right down the end of the pistol, see that notch? Line that up with the first rock there on the left." His voice was low and intimate, almost seductive. He was initiating her into something that his life had centered on, depended on, for longer than Angie could even guess.

"Now, stand still, focus, breathe… just as natural as you can, just like you were looking along that finger, now just _squeeze_, don't pull the trigger, just give that whole pretty thing a squeeze."

She did, and the kick he'd warned her about wasn't quite as bad as she'd expected, though of course she missed by a mile.

"Wow, that's impressive," she announced in a flat voice.

"Actually it wasn't bad; you held pretty steady. First you gotta get the feel, then you'll get the aim." His voice had dropped into that low, dark tone again. Angie turned to face him.

"Look, do you mind getting lost for a while? I think it'd be easier for me to get into this without any distraction."

_Distraction?_ He was a first-class sharpshooter, and had taught everyone from Navy Seals to Special Services to freelance coup artists how to shoot, and this nutcase geek was calling him a _distraction_?

She read the look. "Look, you showed me how to load it, and how to shoot it. What can I mess up? There's nobody out here to shoot accidentally, anyway."

"Except yourself."

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "I haven't been that depressed lately, honest." No smile was forthcoming. "Look, I really think I can manage not to point this thing at myself. Just leave me a couple clips and I'll get used to it." _Without that low, quiet voice to fill my head._

"I _didn't_ show you how to load."

Angie popped the clip out, popped it in again, checked the safety, and sighted along her arm like she'd done a moment ago, pointing the gun toward the rock targets. When Tyler looked surprised she reminded him, "Best way to learn, remember? I shut up, watch, and listen?"

"Two out of three, anyway," he muttered, then told her, "Okay. But I'm coming back in half an hour, you got that?" He handed her two more clips. "Half an hour."

"Fine. I'll be here."

He stalked away, but when he was out of her sight Tyler doubled back and took cover behind one of the abutments about fifty feet above where she was. He'd be damned if he'd leave a first-timer alone with a cache of guns and ammo. So he leaned against a nearby boulder, and watched.

Angie hefted the gun, held it this way and that, getting used to how it balanced when she moved her hand. Then she cocked her arm, straightened it, cocked her wrist, straightened it, locked her elbow not-quite-straight, and her wrist. She did this a few times, sighting through the notch at the end of the barrel. Then she squared her stance, steadied her right hand with her left, and stood motionless. _Stand still. Be quiet. Breathe._

She stood there for so long, still as a statue, that Tyler thought she had zoned right out. He was about to return to see what was up when _bang_! Angie pulled the trigger, and he actually jumped at the unexpected sound. A small explosion of dust and concrete chips puffed out just to the left of the first rock he'd laid out. _Not too bad, Angel._ Next time she stood there even longer. Tyler checked his watch, one, almost two minutes. Then, _bang_. This time she hit the first target a glancing shot, and he could see her nod firmly in acknowledgment. He smiled to himself; it was clear she was approaching this the same way she must have approached learning about all that computer stuff. Slow, methodical, and getting a sense for how the machine worked so she'd know how to work with it. And a weapon was a machine, after all, though not many people thought of it that way. She shot her way through one clip, taking a little less time to set up each time. When the clip was empty she checked the chamber (by god, he realized, those one-way eyes were always on the job), popped the clip out and almost absently jammed it in her back pocket before snapping in the next one. By the time she'd gotten halfway through the third clip she was taking even less time to set up each shot, and fewer shots to hit the targets, though she still wasn't hitting them squarely. When she shot close enough to knock the rocks off their perch she re-set them. Tyler was so absorbed in observing Angie's learning process he missed his return deadline by a good ten minutes; it was only when she'd emptied all three clips and sat down on the low ledge near the ammo stash that he checked his watch again. _Yeah, well, lots of things to do in this wannabe guerrilla camp, plenty of excuses for coming back late._ He crept quietly back to the path they'd taken to the spot, then strode briskly (and audibly) down the incline to the improvised firing range.

"So how'd you do without 'distractions'?" Tyler delivered this line with a practiced smugness.

"Hit 'em all, eventually."

He went to the far wall and picked up some of the target rocks, examining them closely. "So how do I know you didn't just walk over and knock 'em off in time for me to get back?"

Angie rolled her eyes and checked her watch. "Because you said 'half an hour', and it's almost three quarters."

Ham dropped the target rocks and walked back to where Angie stood.

"Right, and how do I know you didn't fire into thin air and dump the rocks twenty minutes ago?"

_What a dumbass_, she thought, and declared, "Maybe because you've been watching me since you 'left for half an hour', ya think?" Tyler's flat-footed astonishment was a welcome surprise. "Hey, no magic powers… I just knew you'd never leave me alone to play with your toys." She gestured with the very empty pistol, keeping it pointed toward the ground, proud of her grasp of weapons etiquette. But Tyler's astonishment evaporated, replaced by a look harder than any slammed door she'd seen in him so far. She shrank back a step, but couldn't escape the hand that flashed out and grabbed her right wrist in a painful vise grip, his other hand snatching the pistol away before holding it muzzle-up next to his face.

"Don't you _ever_," he intoned in an ice-cold voice, "call this a 'toy'."

As Angie's face emptied of expression Tyler dropped her hand and turned away to return the weapons to their stash. She was still standing there in shocked silence, not having moved a muscle, when he finished locking the grate and straightened to face her again.

"I scared you," he acknowledged, and took a step closer, looking deep into her fearful eyes and not softening a bit. "Good. This isn't a game, Angel. The minute you think it is, you're dead."

Angie followed Tyler back to the makeshift rebel compound in silence. Once they'd arrived outside the saloon she ventured in a shaky voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like it sounded."

Tyler shook his head, his face a picture of knowing-better, and he took hold of her wrist again as if she still held the weapon she wasn't taking seriously enough.

"Problem is, you did. You don't get it yet. You're smart, and you have sense, but not the kind of sense you need now. This isn't the mean streets of Boston, it's a whole new kind world. You only _think_ you get it."

"I'm _trying_. I may not get it yet, but I'm really trying."

"Trying's not good enough. When you get _that_ maybe you'll be okay." He still had a hard grip on her.

"Can you let go now?"

Her eyes told him he was hurting her. He let her go.

"You don't have to save me, Tyler," she told him, "Even if you could, I can't make up for everybody else."

His eyes told her she was hurting him. She took his hand in a much lighter grip than he'd taken hers, but with no less emphasis. "It's okay, really. Be The Fixer if you have to be, but you don't have to fix anything for me, and I _can't_ fix anything for you."

Tyler looked down at where Angie held onto his hand, and at the red mark he'd left on her wrist.

"What would you say if I told you we need a day off." No question mark.

"A day off from what?"

"Every fucking thing."

How could she argue with that? "I'd say hell, yeah."

He withdrew his hand. "Grab a few things. Meet me at the motor pool at four o'clock. We're getting out of here tonight."

"To where?" She knew she shouldn't ask but couldn't help herself.

"Anywhere but here. Four o'clock. I'll take care of everything."

For some ungodly reason, Angie believed every word. "Four o'clock, I'll be there."

Tyler slipped a hand behind her neck and brought his face so close to hers she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn't.

"You never disappoint me, Angel." Then he did kiss her, but on the side of her head, then let her go.

From the look on his face Angie could tell it had been a very long time since he'd said that to anyone.


	2. Personal business

Tyler found Donovan in the makeshift lab, set up downstairs in the back "gambling room" of the hotel, with Julie and Robert. The three were discussing how Willie and Angie would be working together on the pass analysis.

"We probably won't be getting back from my mother's house with the passes, if we _do_ get back, until after midnight. They have to be ready to start on it right away," Donovan was reminding the other two, who seemed to have heard it before.

"They know that, Mike," Julie assured him. "Willie has had a chance to look over the Visitor text samples we have and he has a good idea what to do. He told us that it's more a more technical than linguistic issue, and that's right up Angie's alley."

"So she says."

Tyler stepped into the room and told Donovan in a clipped voice, "If she said it you can bank on it, Gooder."

"That's more than you said this morning."

Ignoring the comment Tyler continued, speaking primarily to Robert and Julie, "I have some business up-country for the next day or so. I'll be leaving tonight, back by mid-morning day after tomorrow." He cut off Donovan's ready protest, "In plenty of time to hold your hand while you crack mama's safe."

Julie and Robert exchanged a look. "All the planning's done, right?" Julie asked, more an observation than a question.

"Everything but the weather," Tyler told her.

"Will your friend still be here?" Robert asked. "In case anyone needs a little extra weapons drill? And we can always use another hand in case of trouble."

"Yeah, Chris'll be here. But from the looks of it your mixed bag of amateurs have shaped up pretty well. As ready as they're gonna be."

"Coming from you, that's high praise," Julie told him with the hint of a tongue in her cheek.

"Well don't let them know, it'll only go to their heads. Okay, I got stuff to do, if we're square I'm gonna go do it."

"Hope it goes okay, whatever it is," Julie called after Tyler as he left.

"I expect it will," he answered without looking back, keeping his smile to himself.

Donovan followed Tyler into the street and caught up with him as he headed for the communications center they'd constructed in the sheriff's office.

"What 'business up-country'?" He'd known Tyler, and _about_ him, long enough to wonder if he was either making side deals on weapons or was just losing interest in the current situation and planning his own next move.

"Personal business."

"So how do we know you're not just gonna take off and leave us twisting in the wind?" Donovan demanded, stopping in the other man's path. Much as he hated to admit it, Mike knew how much they needed Tyler's talent for quick decision making and battle strategy. Tyler glared at him with casual menace.

_Angie pegged it; Donovan is a pain in the ass, and not just kind-of. _"You don't. Now get outta my way, Gooder, before I forget we're on the same side."

The implication was obvious. "Fine. Day after tomorrow."

"That's what I said. And if I don't come back I guarantee Chris will find me before you do, and he won't be any happier than you'll be."

Donovan stepped aside. Something more was going on, but he got the idea it wasn't anything that put their plans in danger, and for some reason he suddenly felt stupid about asking.

Tyler strode off without another word. When he got to the sheriff's office he picked up the field phone, at the same time asking Maggie with much more politeness than he showed most other people, "Step outside for a minute, will you? I got a private call to make."

Maggie, who harbored few doubts regarding this very in-your-face guy (hell, why would he _need_ to lie when he could blow the whole place up without breaking a sweat?), readily complied. "Just gimme a shout when you're through."

"No problem." He even managed a smile. When she was gone he punched in a number. "Reno. Tyler. Look I'm calling in a favor…whaddaya mean 'which one', there are enough stacked up to last me a lifetime. Get up to that cabin in the woods." There was a little safe house hidden in the Angeles National Forest that would take an hour or so to get to. That was close enough to get back to the rebel camp on schedule. _And just far enough away. From every fucking thing._

Angie had hoped to stuff a few things in a bag without raising any questions. The upstairs rooms in the hotel had been parceled out to the single women, the men sleeping downstairs or in other buildings in the abandoned film location. A string of train cars was also being prepared for habitation. As Angie pulled a pair of jeans and a couple of t shirts from the box of clothes that had been given to her, her roommate Ruby appeared.

Ruby was late sixty-ish, long-widowed, and had lost some close friends to the Visitors before taking up with the Resistance. Angie liked Ruby. She took no nonsense from anyone, and held little back. At the same time, she seemed to be one of the most kind and perceptive people Angie had met in a long time. It had become apparent that Ruby was something of a "grandmother" to the rebels, dispensing calm words of personal guidance and support. And, to Angie's great surprise, an equal amount of automatic weapons fire when the situation required it. "Feisty" seemed a patronizing word but Angie was hugely impressed by the risks this woman took posing as a cleaning lady and breezing in and out right under the Visitors' noses every day, gathering valuable intelligence.

"Two things nobody pays attention to," Ruby told Angie simply, "servants and old people. So I like to think I'm twice as invisible." Many such arch observations were punctuated with a light laugh, as if engaging in droll teatime conversation. _I hope she wears off on me,_ Angie would think sometimes. _She seems to have a grasp on this New World without letting it harden her._

Angie also liked the fact that Ruby didn't express even the most veiled curiosity about why (as in, "really, _why?_") she was with Ham and Chris, or the nature of their relationship. All she'd said about it was "It pays to travel with the right kind of people, and right now those two seem like the right kind of people to have around. And I think there's more than meets the eye behind that hard face Mr. Tyler wears."

Now Ruby had returned from "work", and was pulling off her kerchief and removing her false teeth and makeup before reporting to Julie, Robert and Donovan what more she'd learned regarding the plans for the to-be-raided party at the home of Donovan's mother Eleanor Duprés. She noticed Angie packing and gestured in dismay.

"Oh no, you're not leaving us already? And your new plans for those passes we'll be getting sounded so promising."

Angie paused, not really wanting to lie but unsure how much to share with Ruby. She seemed like a very common-sense person, but still…

"Uh, no Ruby. Just off for a day or so." She shoved some socks and underwear and her flannel pj's – which she loved, being the first comfortable sleeping attire she'd had in nearly six months – into the small rucksack, along with her toothbrush and deodorant. Should she bring an extra sweater? She would get so cold sometimes especially at night, and she didn't know where she'd be going. "Away" was all that counted at the moment. _Away from planning, and running, and guns, and to… quiet._ Stillness, and quiet. And Ham Tyler, who seemed a ready source for both, at least for her.

"Hmm," Ruby continued undressing, privacy being one of the first casualties of rebellion, "I just heard Mike grumbling when I was on the way in, all upset that we're on the verge of another raid and 'that Tyler has to tend to personal business for a couple days'." Then she looked straight at Angie, who froze. "I don't suppose you have some personal business to attend to, as well?"

Angie stood motionless, speechless. _This is stupid, I'm a grownup, he's a grownup, we need to get away, to… what? Get laid, finally, and come back again? It can't be that simple._

Ruby spoke first, with a knowing look that put Angie almost at ease. "That's all right, Angie. It's not so surprising for two people in such a desperate situation to find something worthwhile in each other."

Finally Angie answered, "But it's not _desperation_, Ruby. It's… I don't know what it is, I just know that I feel like I have a chance to calm down, inside my head and inside myself, for a day or so. Or however long we can manage after that. Does that make sense?"

Ruby patted her arm and assured her, "It might be the only thing that _does_ make sense, dear. And if you don't mind my saying so, I think Mr. Tyler has a great need to calm down, too. I don't think his life has allowed him that for a long time."

As she picked up her bag Angie still was uncertain. "You're not going to tell anyone we've run off or anything? I mean all I need is _more_ rumors and questions and wrong ideas. I don't answer them, but they just make things so much more difficult."

Ruby waved her kerchief and uniform dress. "I'm the cleaning lady, not the house mother. I'll see you when you get back. And if anyone asks me where you've gone or why, I'll tell them that you stepped out for a bit of quiet."

"Thank you, thank you… " she gave Ruby an impulsive hug.

"I'll see you when you get back," Ruby repeated, "calm and ready for what happens next."

"I sure hope so," Angie replied as she made for the door. "I'll let you be the judge."

* * *

At four o'clock sharp Angie arrived at the improvised motor pool, an enormous cattle barn on the edge of town that was used to shelter the collection of vehicles "liberated" for use by the camp members. Water tanks outside had been converted to store the fuel that Chris and Ham's contacts had managed to bring in with surprising speed since their arrival.

She walked into the darkness of the barn and called out quietly, "Hello?"

"Very subtle," came a low voice right behind her, and she jumped a mile. "You're lucky it's me and not one of Gooder's jumpy watchmen."

As Angie's eyes adjusted she could see Tyler's sardonic smile. Eyeing the rucksack she had in her hand he added, "Traveling light, good." He was empty handed.

"You too, I guess," she observed.

He didn't answer but led her by the arm to a corner by the rear door. He took the rucksack from her and lashed it with bungee cords next to his own small leather satchel on the rear rack of a vintage Harley, then began to walk the cycle to the back door of the barn.

"Well come on, unless you plan to run after me."

She followed him, but hesitated when he opened back door and set the bike on its stand again. He held a slick-looking black helmet in his hand and picked up another from a hook on the rear of the bike. She didn't take it from him.

"Uh, wait a minute, Tyler… where are we going anyway?"

"Away from here. To somewhere else. Like I said, a day off. We'll be back day after tomorrow. Here," he tried to hand her the helmet again and misunderstood when she didn't take it. "You're _not_ gonna ride without this."

"Can't we take one of those?" she asked, pointing to the varied array of four-wheeled, enclosed, _safe_ vehicles.

He was shaking his head. "Uh-uh, we need to save the fuel for bigger things. Besides, this'll be faster." When she looked a little queasy at that, he got it. "You've never ridden on a bike, have you?"

Angie shook her head, a little sheepish. "Uh, no."

"You learned to shoot, you can learn to ride. Nothin' to it, Angel, just hang on and lean when I do. I promise I won't spill you." When she didn't move, Tyler chuckled derisively. "I guess you never went out with a biker, huh, just that demo derby driver?" He stopped laughing when he saw she wasn't budging. "_Trust_ me, will you? I won't let you get hurt." He put on his own helmet and mounted the bike. "C'mon, or I'll soak up all that peace and quiet for myself and leave you here to listen to Gooder's speeches."

_Shit._ "Oh, all right, give it here," Angie took the helmet and put it on. Too big for her, it fell down over her eyes and the faceguard came down somewhere way under her chin.

Tyler laughed out loud. "Oh, _beautiful_." He dismounted, lifted the helmet off and put it on the bike's seat. "Put your hair up on top of your head," he told her, and when she did he pulled a bandanna out of his back pocket and tied it over her piled up hair, knot in back, like Chris wore from time to time. "There you are, a genuine biker chick." Ignoring her sullen glare he replaced the helmet, which now fit decently, on her head and mounted the bike again, sliding forward a little to give her room. "Okay, climb on and just hold onto me. You'll get the feel for it."

She adjusted the helmet a little, and climbed on behind him. When Angie placed her hands lightly against Tyler's waist, he grabbed both of them and pulled them around tightly in front.

"I said _hold on_." His voice was muffled by both helmets, but she got the message. She lifted her feet gingerly off the ground and settled them on the rear pegs.

When Tyler rolled the bike abruptly off the kickstand Angie almost called it off.

"Hey," she protested in desperation, "what if it rains?"

This time she could feel Ham's laughter through the arms she had locked around his middle. "We get wet!"

The bike roared to life, and they were off. After the first ten minutes or so, during which Angie figured she would've crushed the ribs of a lesser man, she began to feel the rhythm of their motion on the rough dirt roads like Tyler said she would. She leaned when he leaned, as he'd instructed, but there weren't all that many turns. He'd never told her how long the trip would be, or where they were going, except "away".

But he'd also said "trust me," and she did. So much so that after ten or fifteen miles, when her hands were freezing cold, she reached each one into a pocket of Tyler's leather jacket and held on tight from the inside. Another ten miles and she was settled close against him, face turned to the side and eyes closed. By the time they'd covered fifty miles, not far from their destination, she was lost in the chill rush of the wind and wondering if she'd ever want to travel any other way again.

Meanwhile, up front, feeling the wind under his facemask and the warmth of Angie Harper wrapped tight behind him, Ham Tyler was wondering if having Chris track him down and kick his ass might just be worth it, if he could just keep going.


	3. Are we there yet?

It was still light when they roared to a stop in a clearing, the middle of what Angie figured was the biggest deepest forest she'd pictured outside of a fairy tale. Having been a lifelong city dweller she'd been on brief forays into various types of countryside but had never actually visited something as huge or impressive as this. The sun filtering through the trees lit the back of a small rough-looking cabin with a wraparound log porch. Again, something out of a fairy tale. It was set up on a low rise that dropped away from the front of the structure and into a small meadow bordered by yet more dense foliage. Talk about _away_…

Tyler rolled the bike up on the stand and had already pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside, marching onto the porch to check if Reno had set the place up as directed. When Angie climbed off the bike herself she didn't expect to thoroughly lose her balance.

"Oh, shit," she lamented, and Tyler turned just in time to see her fall flat on her ass. He'd forgotten she'd never ridden, and the ride they'd taken was just long and rough enough to shake up a newbie when the time came to stand on her feet again. Tyler jogged to where she lay and leaned down, hands on his knees.

"I guess I forgot to mention be careful getting off…"

She was tired, sore, and embarrassed. "Yeah, I guess," she groaned but took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"Feel free to take a look around," he told her, "nobody here but us. Don't go too far though." He didn't need her wandering off into nowhere.

"That's okay, I'll leave a trail of breadcrumbs," Angie quipped.

"Go ahead," he responded casually before he went inside, "the bears'll appreciate 'em."

"Ha, ha." But she limited herself to a circuit around the cabin. There was a shed next door (not an outhouse, thank God) that housed an electric generator. Two large tanks of kerosene stood nearby, and another even larger one stenciled in red "RAINWATER", piped to the cabin and mounted with tall solar panels aimed toward a wide opening in the trees. There was a lean-to partially filled with firewood, an axe and other tools. Angie walked partway down the front slope to the little meadow, taking in the view. Christ, it looked like one of those postcards, "Wish you were here". And they were.

"Enough quiet for you?" Tyler called from the front door.

Angie trudged up to the porch, stood, and listened for a moment. A little too early for the peepers to come out, if she'd known what they were, but she could hear all manner of birds.

"Wow, lots of birdies, huh?" She was a little overwhelmed. "All I ever got to hear was pigeons, and the neighbor's parrot."

"You've never been much of anywhere, have you?" Tyler was shaking his head in mock disappointment.

She was a little put out by his certainty, though it was true. "Not so much. I had a busy life, Tyler, and besides I _learned_ about everywhere."

"Not the same." He turned and went inside, and she followed.

"Wow."

Inside was a lot less "rough". The large main room had smooth amber-colored walls paneled in maple, a stone fireplace in one corner and a sink, small electric cook stove, and refrigerator in the back wall. There was a coffeemaker (_yay!_) and a built-in hutch made of barn board that held pots, pans, dishes, a whole lot more stuff than Angie would expect a seldom-used cabin to have handy. And all of it spotless. The broad planked floor was scattered with braided rugs. Near the fireplace was a large, low cannonball bed with a head and footboard of the same maple as the walls. The bed was covered with blankets and quilts, even a huge fur throw. Closer to the fireplace was a big overstuffed chair, also draped with a quilt.

"Bathroom's through there," he indicated a door to the left of the galley kitchen. "Solar heated water, big tank out back of the shed."

"Yeah, I saw it." Angie went to peek into the bathroom and saw a big clawfoot tub, a separate shower stall, and pedestal china sink with brass fittings. _Nothing but the best in the wilderness_, she thought to herself. And on another built-in set of shelves in one wall were stacks of big, fluffy towels, washcloths, and a basket of soaps. There was even shampoo and conditioner, and a comb and brush. Tyler appeared at her shoulder as she took it all in.

"Oh good. He remembered the lady-things." The last two words were delivered in an exaggerated Russian accent, prompting a glare from Angie.

"That asshole had nothing to do with this, did he?"

Proud of another button well-pushed, he smiled and assured her, "Nope. Sascha doesn't have this kind of style."

"You're telling _me_," she mumbled as she walked around the main room again. "Lemme guess, your friend from Bangkok?"

Tyler took some wood from a cubby built into the stone hearth, stacked it atop some old newspaper, set it alight, and stood back as the flames caught. "Yup."

"He's got a long reach," she observed, impressed.

"Long as it needs to be."

"I've gotta meet this guy someday. Zen breathing expert _and _interior decorator," she waved her hand around the room.

"Nah, most of it's mine. And _don't_ call me an 'interior decorator'." The mock glare warmed with a grin. "Besides, Reno keeps to himself pretty much."

"So did you." _Zing_.

"Uh-huh." Tyler stood watching as Angie pulled some stuff from her rucksack where he'd dropped it on the bed.

"I see you scored some pj's," he noted as she pulled out the flannels.

She held them up for display and frowned uncertainly. They were powder blue, decorated with prancing bunnies. Weird, for grownup size, but she couldn't bring herself to turn them down when Julie offered them with the rest of the clothes she was given. "I don't know that I'm the bunny-rabbit type."

Tyler shrugged as he approached her, took the pj top from her hands and looked it over.

"I dunno," he mused, then looked her over so calmly and methodically that Angie started to feel self-conscious. He pulled the bandana off her head and ran his hand through the hair that fell down to just below her shoulders. "Brown like a bunny rabbit," he lifted some of it in his fingers, "soft like a bunny rabbit..." He surrounded her in a bear hug, burying his face in her hair and her neck.

"Nice," he murmured next to her ear.

_Nice._ Such a bland everyday word, but the husky breath behind it made Angie shiver.

Tyler lifted his head and asked, "Cold?"

Was that the hint of a smile she saw in his eyes?

"Nope."

Now the smile, the honest one, spread to the rest of his face. "Didn't think so." He released her and stepped back. "I'm gonna take a shower. Make yourself at home."

_What the hell? _Angie had been leaning into him so much that she stumbled when he let her go.

"A cold one?" she asked edgily. Did he get some kind of cheap thrill by playing her?

He huffed a short breath and stepped closer again, laid one hand on her shoulder and hooked the other in her belt loop. Casual.

"Listen." He leaned right down nose to nose. "We got all night, and tomorrow, and all the next night. I am not a man who likes to rush. I rush enough out there," he jerked his head toward the front door, then pulled her in and kissed her, deep and easy, his hands not moving from where they were. Angie willed her own hands to stay where she'd thrust them in her pockets, though God knew it wasn't easy to keep from grabbing for that hard ass she'd been pressed up against for over fifty miles.

When he let her up for air Tyler added in that low voice (the one that Angie wanted to roll around in like black velvet), "I like to take my time, if that's okay with you." She nodded, a little dazed. "Good. So slow down, be quiet…"

"And breathe?"

Strolling to the bathroom and peeling off his t shirt as he went, Tyler nodded. "That would be a plus, too."

As he walked away the smooth, unscarred skin of the finely muscled back surprised her. "I'll do my best," she declared.

_No guarantees_, she added silently.


	4. Refuge

"Okay dirt bunny, your turn," Tyler announced as he strode out of the bathroom in bare feet and blue jeans, belt hanging loose, a damp towel still draped around his neck. At first glance Angie was nowhere to be seen. "Now where the hell..." he had his hand on the front door when he spotted her slouched in the armchair by the fireplace, half-camouflaged by the afghan that had fallen over her from the back of the chair. He laughed quietly to himself and went to sit on the broad arm of the oversized chair. Angie started violently from her doze as he sat down.

"No!" she cried out as she tried to scramble to her feet, unsure of where she was.

"Hey, take it easy," Tyler steadied her with a hand on her shoulder, "it's just me." He leaned closer so he could look her in the eye. "Just me, okay? We're taking a couple days off from the war, remember?" He gave her a second to focus.

Things crystallized in Angie's head. "Oh, right." Her voice was shaky, apologetic.

"No problem. Takes a while to get used to."

Now Angie sat up, shook off the last of her drowsiness and took in her surroundings calmly. "Used to what?" she asked.

He got up and went to the sink, running water into the coffee pot. "Everything you got _un_used to out there." He motioned to the door like he'd done when he told her he had to rush too much "out there". He was pulling cooking stuff from the shelves. "Let's see what Reno's idea of food is," he said as he opened the fridge.

"Want me to cook?" Angie offered.

When Tyler turned to look at her he saw what he figured she must have looked like before the world went to hell, asking an everyday question and expecting an everyday answer. Good. That's why he came here, to this place he'd managed to construct as a temporary refuge from hell. He'd built it a long time ago when there were different kinds of things to escape from and wash away. Hell was still hell, of course, only the details had changed, but now he wasn't in control of the schedule and hell wasn't confined to any one place on the map. The reasons for coming were still the same, though: to be somewhere where he was required to be nothing but quiet, where life demanded nothing from him and allowed him just to _be_. He'd never brought anyone along before, male or female. Looking at the suddenly everyday face looking back at him (as if he hadn't realized she was there until now) Tyler figured _hell, this New World must be newer than I thought_. Anyway she seemed to fit here, though he'd never expected it would suit anyone but him. _First time for everything._

"Nope." He responded to her surprise with a stock smirk. "What, you think I live on roots and berries? A man's gotta eat, so a man's gotta cook. Now go wash that shocked look off your face. I promise I won't poison you."

As Angie closed the bathroom door behind her she was aware of how much she _didn't_ know about Ham Tyler, and had been filling in on her own. Though she understood (so she thought) that he probably had different reasons than most people to want to get away, she figured he had a cabin in the middle of nowhere for much the same reasons as any guy…to kick back and be a slob. To not shave, to lie around, eat jerky, and maybe drink or hunt. On occasion to get laid without interruption. None of these things put her off, to be honest, because he did have that quiet core that she'd seldom seen in anyone she'd known, and she figured his manly entertainments would at least be more low-key than some. Still, she wasn't stupid, and she knew that they both knew at least one of the reasons why they were here was on that first list… to get laid without interruption. Why he seemed to be putting her off she didn't get, unless it was just what he said, he didn't like to rush. Sort of an expanded notion of foreplay? Again it occurred to her, she just didn't know enough about him to know.

Oh God, another wonderful endless hot shower. When she took the shampoo from the shelf it gave her pause… the kind of stuff she couldn't afford in the Old World, even after an overtime-week. Well Tyler had to know by now that he didn't need anything fancy to seduce her, she'd come here willingly. It was possible he was from a more rarefied circle than she'd imagined… it didn't cost money to know books or history or movies – she was living proof of that! – but who knew where mercenaries were recruited from, how many kinds of worlds they had to move in? Come to that, how much money did it take to set up this place in the middle of nowhere, as it was obviously an "independent" pursuit?She jumped when she heard the door creak open. No knock. But no entry, either, just a disembodied voice.

"Take it easy on the hot water, you'll need some to do the dishes." The door shut again.

Angie smiled to herself as she finished her shower and dried off with one of the deliciously lush towels piled nearby. She'd been right all along, questions didn't matter much. She felt calm, and quiet, and safe with Ham Tyler. For now, that was all she really needed to know.

She pulled on fresh underwear, jeans and a green v neck sweater she'd grabbed back at the camp. She'd gotten it from the "Men" bin of clothing, but it was lamb's wool and so soft she had to have it.

When she re-entered the main room Angie found Tyler stirring something on the stove. He was still barefoot but had pulled on a clean cotton shirt, and Angie realized that until now she'd never seen him in anything but those endless black t shirts and black jeans and dark sweaters worn under the ubiquitous black leather blazer. He looked different… relaxed, like a guy might look in his own house. _Well this was the closest he got, _she figured_._

"Doesn't _smell_ like poison, anyway, and damn I am hungry," Angie peered around Tyler's shoulder and reached for a spoon, but he slapped her hand away.

"Get lost. It's gonna be ready when it's ready."

"_Ow!_" She jumped back and erupted, "You think you could stop _smacking_ me? I may look sturdy but the bruises are starting to pile up."

She wasn't kidding, and he could see it. He put down the stirring spoon, replaced the lid on the stew pot, and went to where she stood clutching the hand he hadn't meant to slap quite that hard.

"Lemme see," he reached for her, but she stepped back.

"Yeah, I know," she accused, "you're gonna say 'you're fine', so why bother? I know nothing's broken, but just cut it _out_, will you?"

"You don't know as much as you think," he told her in his "quiet" voice. She stood still then, and let him take her hand and look at it.

"Where did I get you this time? Here?" He turned her hand over and found the spot, though there wasn't any mark of course because it hadn't been much of a slap.

"Look at me," he instructed, and she did, finding his eyes were more serious than she expected. Still looking her in the eye Tyler lifted Angie's hand and kissed the place he'd just slapped in jest.

Then he examined the wrist that he'd grabbed so hard, twice, the day before, when her carelessness had angered him. There was a very faint bruise reaching halfway around the pale skin. He kissed that place too… three slow kisses that traced the length of the mark. Angie stood transfixed as he bent her head forward against his shoulder and turned her a little to the side so he could find the back of her head where he'd knocked her to the ground with an open hand that day when the Visitors had them cornered and she didn't move fast enough. He left a kiss there, too. This done, he faced her again and tipped her chin up with one hand while with the other he touched the places where he'd marked her face with a harsh grip the morning she'd lost all control and focus. She shut her eyes as he leaned down, and felt that hard looking mouth soften against her skin. Then he straightened again and looked at her with that raised-eyebrow expression of his, except this time it wasn't demanding.

"Better?" When she nodded he told her, "Whoever did that to you before, it wasn't me. And I won't do it again. Okay?"

Angie noticed that while he didn't apologize in so many words, he didn't ask for details either. Under the circumstances the first wouldn't have meant much to her. But the second, that meant a great deal.

Feeling suddenly awkward, Angie stepped away and shook her still-wet hair. "So you got a hair dryer in this forest lair of yours?"

Tyler stared in amazement.

"I'm not even gonna _answer _that one," then he tipped his head forward to display what he figured should be obvious: his short hair, and receding hairline.

"So shoot me for asking."

"Don't tempt me. Plates are over there," he indicated the shelves where he'd gotten the cooking stuff. "Make yourself useful."

Angie found a box of antique flatware under where the dishes were. As she set the small, elaborately carved oak table she asked, "What's to eat?"

Ladling delicious-smelling stew into the plates with the panache of a five-star chef Tyler informed her, "Tonight's special is take it or leave it." He returned the pot to the stove, and pulled a bottle of red wine from a cabinet under the sink then returned with two glasses in one hand, the bottle and a corkscrew in the other.

"Beaujolais," he announced as he uncorked and poured, again with an obviously practiced hand. "We're fresh out of cheap vodka."

Angie sat with a thump and inquired in a weary voice, "Can you drop the wiseass for a little while?" It was tiring trying to keep up, and a jarring contrast to the way he'd treated her just moments ago.

With a "gotcha" smile that was growing all too familiar to her, he sat down.

"Okay, how's this," the smile warmed and morphed Gotcha-to-Honest as he raised his glass in an elegant salute. "Welcome to my refuge from hell. I hope it works for you."

She knew exactly what he meant, and observed as she raised her glass in return, "I think it's working already."


	5. Postmodern romance

When Tyler came through the back door with more wood the room was empty. Conversation had flagged during dinner, and he'd caught Angie looking a little uncertain as the silence went on when they cleaned up. He went outside and found her sitting on the front porch railing looking down toward the meadow and woods. Leaving the door open so the light from inside spilled out onto the porch, he leaned against the railing next to her, facing the opposite direction.

Angie briefly touched his left hand where it gripped the wood next to her. A couple of glasses of wine had set the wheels turning in her head that usually stayed still, and they were driving thoughts she'd rather have left alone.

"That's where the ring goes," she said, "since we came here it's been impossible to ignore."

She saw more than he'd imagined, so why deny it. "I never wore one."

"You didn't have to." Angie swung one leg over the rail so she was straddling it, facing him. "You don't want to know my story, that's plain enough. I don't ask too many questions because I feel safer finding out on my own, but you know by now I ask when I have to. You don't ask because you don't want to know, and you don't like to answer because… who the hell knows."

Tyler looked her in the eye. "I know what I need to know. And you're here because you want to be, so you must know what you need to know, too. What I wore and didn't wear and where I've been and what I've done, whatever you haven't figured out yet, that's not your business. It doesn't change anything here and now."

"Fine. I've figured out what you said that first day about getting 'that poison' out of your system might have something to do with this," she raised the hand he'd slapped, the wrist he'd grabbed, touched the places on her head and face he'd bruised, more importantly that he'd felt compelled to soothe with kisses, "and why you told me you wouldn't do it again. I didn't have to ask to find out."

"You don't know as much as you think."

But she could tell she'd touched a nerve.

"Yeah, well neither do you. When I asked Chris if I reminded you of somebody he told me I remind you guys of everybody. Well I'm not everybody, I'm just me."

"I know that."

"No, you don't," Angie insisted, "because you don't _want_ to know." Tyler stood abruptly and took a step away but Angie reached out and grabbed his arm. "_Stop_. Why don't you want to _know_ me?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't walk away. He settled back against the railing again, looking very weary. Angie went on as if in response to a direct question.

"The last time I woke up with a man was the morning of the day I left Boston. David was his name, a college professor, regular at the library, that's how we met. Older than me. He was smart, had been everywhere, had enough degrees to put half the alphabet after his name. And he was quiet, and calm," as she looked hard at Tyler, the "like you" was silent but he could hear it loud and clear, "and married. Two kids. No plans to leave. And I didn't care. I didn't want to know about his life, I only needed to know about what we said and did and thought together. So I left him at my apartment that morning the day after he told his wife for the hundredth time he'd be staying on the couch in his office because he worked late, and when he died the last person he'd been with wasn't his wife. It was me. And when _she_ died, maybe she knew that. Maybe she didn't. But I still didn't care." Now Angie climbed off the railing and stood in front of Tyler as if pleading a case in court. "So now you know why when you call me 'Angel', you're wrong. I'm nobody's angel. I'm nobody's good omen. And the reason I know it's true is that I _still_ don't care." She pointed to his left hand again, "And if you're married, I don't care about that either because like you said I'm here because I want to be, because you're quiet and calm and I _need_ that. And you don't make me explain anything, and I need that too. But some things about me you need to know, so you'll know I'm not 'everybody'. For me to be sure you can tell the difference, maybe there's more I need to know about you, too. Maybe this no questions thing only goes so far."

Still getting no response, Angie thought for a minute and then stepped back. "Well I guess there's another thing we have in common. We both don't care, just about different things."

This time it was Angie who turned to walk away, and Tyler let her. But he followed.

She sat on a rock at the bottom of the slope and just stared. At the trees, at the stars, and the waning moon. It really was a perfect refuge, no matter what your idea of hell was.

"I was married." His voice came from behind, above her. Quiet.

"I told you, I don't care about that."

"I do." Tyler crouched next to where Angie sat. "I was married, a long time ago. Cambodia. One kid, a daughter. Missing, presumed dead." End of story. He paused, then added, "You're not 'everybody' even if you remind me of everybody, sometimes." She didn't answer, so he went on. "You got some of it right, but most of it wrong."

"That's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was." He motioned for Angie to slide over and sat down next to her. "You want to know about poison… I was full of it. You can't blame it on any one thing because in Nam, in the Company's special ops, there were too many like Chris who _didn't_ have it to blame it on the war. The ones of us who did, to us it wasn't poison, not then, it was a drug, with a rush better than anything. The spoils, we were entitled. So there was always a reason, always an excuse. Win a battle, take down a Cong cell, there were always women left alive to burn off the adrenalin. Lose a mission or a buddy, we could burn off the anger the same way. Later on, you're getting better at it and moving up the ladder, it was the same thing only the hooches were hotel rooms and the women could be operatives, could be hookers, could be anybody who slowed down long enough to let you buy them a drink." His voice got cold. "Hey, it was a perk of the job. No names, no faces. No stories. After awhile the whole thing makes you sick, like any drug will, and you don't get the kick you used to. And I got there fast, and I got there young. By the time I met Mai Linh I was burnt out and ready to play at being civilized. I didn't expect that quiet sober part of me was still around, waiting for its chance, but there it was, and it busted out like it was dying for air. Of course most people think that losing people can kill the good and leave the bad to do its thing, and that's how they see me. That suits me fine, because in my line of work it doesn't do to have people look too close. It's not as simple as that, though…I just didn't find a reason to tap into it for a good long time, but I remembered how sick that poison made me feel so I left that behind. That's something Reno taught me, that all this 'soft side/hard side/dark side/light side' bullshit is just that, bullshit. We all have all of it in us, we just store it differently and you have to learn to balance it. And to balance it, you gotta stand still, be quiet..."

"And breathe."

Tyler had been staring off into the woods as Angie had been, and now he looked at her as if she'd just arrived. "Like I said, you got some of it right." He motioned behind them toward the cabin. "So Chris and Reno helped me put this place together, because as I got better at what I did there was less and less time and space to get the balance back."

"And here is the place you can just breathe." No question mark.

"Good a way as any to put it."

"But why did you bring _me_?" She just wanted to know she was more than a cure for "everybody".

He cocked his head, and looked her over in that methodical way he'd done a short while ago. "Because I thought you'd fit here, and you could use a little refuge from hell. Because you have a name, and a face. Because something is dying for air again, and it's been too long since it had the chance to breathe."

Angie wasn't sure she understood all of it. "I'm not an antidote, Tyler."

"No, you're not. This is," he reached an arm around her and kissed the side of her face, holding her there for a moment. "Easy, quiet. _That's _the antidote." He let her go and stood up to face her. "And that's as much as you need to know. You wanna go back to L.A. now?"

_Back to plan A, he suggested that first night we arrived when he kissed me and I was too surprised to kiss back._

"Nope."

"You never disappoint me, Angel." He predicted her protest and headed it off. "If I say you're a good omen, you're a good omen. You can live with that."

"Okay."

When they got back to the cabin, after he laid more wood on the fire, Tyler walked to the bed and turned to Angie, making a beckoning motion with both hands.

"C'mere."

She went to him and hooked her fingers in his belt. "When are you gonna give up that lame line?"

"When it stops working."

Half an hour later Angie lay tangled with Tyler, overwhelmed. He'd worked her clothes off, inches at a time – "I wanna unwrap you very carefully, like a case of nitro" – while she'd managed to peel off only his shirt, and even that was hard work. He was completely absorbed in touching, kissing, _tasting_, every inch of her, as if thoroughly mapping her through his hands and mouth and face, every sound he drew from her answered by the smiles she could feel against her skin.

"Nice," he breathed against her shoulder, her neck, "_nice_…" he was covering her neck and breasts with lazy licking kisses, surrounding then sucking in hardening nipples, tracing goose bumps with sensitive fingertips. When she tried to pull at his clothes, give him as good as he gave (as if it were possible, she was beginning to wonder…) he'd distract her by triggering another bundle of nerve endings in the most amazing places, inside her elbow, between her fingers.

"Tyler," she managed between sighs and whimpers, "_Tyler_," and tugged at his shoulder. He stopped (the shock almost killed her) and brought his face near hers.

"D'you think," he muttered, trailing more kisses against her face until he reached her ear, "under the circumstances… you could remember my _first_ name?"

"Ham," she gulped, "what about you... what do _you_ want..."

He never let up for a second, but paused to mumble in her ear before filling it with a wet kiss, "_this_ is what I want, and this," he moved on to the hollow of her throat, "and this," her head twisted and she gasped as his fingers crept lower to stroke and tease her, "and this," he continued to make a slow, endless "tour" of her with his mouth while his hands did things that shut her brain off entirely.

* * *

_He hadn't told her all of it, he'd decided not to frighten her with more than she needed to know... she'd been right in a way, he thought as he explored her inch by delicious inch and smiled at the sounds she made, she was the antidote or part of it anyway. He knew what he'd been, and it was more than he'd told her. He'd been a rapist pure and simple; the power rush was the drug that made him sick in the end. The rush had been turning "no" into a moot point and leaving his spoils where he'd found them, to prove they didn't matter and he was in charge. Killing couldn't do it, no decent power rush there because it was over and done with the last heartbeat. The power he could hold over someone left alive, now that was something he could hold onto. He'd told the truth about it making him sick in the end, and this was the antidote, but he couldn't make it work on his own, he needed…_

…_to be welcomed by someone, quiet and calm and willing, that was the new drug that wiped out the old, and the more welcome he could make himself the better he liked it, and the pleasure was directly linked to the length of time he could take to experience it... lovemaking slow and endless because it was the opposite of what he used to be, fast and hard and brutal... the cosmic payback life had given him had been that once he'd come out of that poisoned fog that there was nobody anywhere who would welcome him that calm quiet way, not until he met his wife, and after he lost her he'd learned to do without this kind of progressive healing he felt when he could touch and taste and hold a woman and make up for everything he'd done and everything he'd discovered so late that he'd missed, I might just make this last all night, he thought, god it had been so long, when for so long the women who said they wanted him were just turned on by the leather and firepower and didn't know or want __him__, but someone to live up to their movie/magazine fantasies (Soldier of Fortune... he laughed at that, and because he was tasting and exploring hot and sweet between Angie's legs he had to catch her hand when she cried out and grabbed for his thinning hair)... and there were those times when the leftover adrenaline from any given job left him with that ache in his balls that demanded attention, so he'd given them what they wanted and pounded into them until they screamed the way they wanted to, with no satisfaction for himself besides killing the ache, it couldn't even be called relief... he'd leave them still catching their breath, pull on his clothes and get the hell out trying not to look at them because the only difference between the way they looked lying there and the ones he'd left lying there in the past was the absence of bruises and blood... yeah, __this__ was what he wanted, as he ran tongue-kisses along Angie's hip and into the palm of the hand he still held, slow and warm and welcome, feeling every second and using every sense to be here and now, leaving then and there dead in the past... Angie knew him, even if she thought she didn't, every time she made him listen, every time she listened to __him__ he was more sure... it wasn't that he didn't want to know her story; he knew now he just didn't need to know what she decided not to tell, everything he'd seen since she fell onto his path made him surer of it…_

* * *

Now he felt her reaching for him, to pull him up to where she could hold and touch him and he thought

_okay, let it be her turn, I've paid as much penance as she'll let me for now._

He moved up to the pillows and rolled onto his side; Angie's brow furrowed as she looked at him. Those doors that hadn't been flung wide open in either one of them that first night in L.A. just kind of... disappeared.

Angie could tell there was damage being undone here, so there was something else she needed him to know. She was flushed and breathless and now wasn't the time, but she needed him to know.

"Ham, it's _okay_."

When he lay back and smiled, every doubt disappeared.

"Yup."

The expression he saw on her face as she leaned over him then was something entirely new; _Jesus, she's eyeing me like a Catholic on the last day of Lent... and I'm the dessert buffet._

"C'mere," he invited unnecessarily, laughing as she fell down to devour him, "Be gentle, will you, I still need my strength for when we go back."

When she stopped cold and stared at him with haunted eyes he offered a wry smile as he drew her mouth to his.

"Sorry, Angel, I never know when to keep my mouth shut... why don't _you_ give it a shot..."

This was a first. Barely dawn, a woman draped all over him, and Ham Tyler was _not_ figuring out how to get up and out before she woke up. Hell, he even remembered her name. The room was chilly. He should probably start the fire. Then Angie stirred a little, without waking, and he looked at her where she lay against his shoulder, one leg flung carelessly over his, one hand strewn even more carelessly close to where it could get the day started way too early for both of them.

Cold room, warm bed, soft skin... no-brainer. He moved Angie's hand to a safer location and went back to sleep.


	6. Outdoorsy and in

Unaccustomed to sleeping past sunrise, Tyler only dozed lightly for another half hour or so before deciding that swapping his warm bed, and warmer bedmate, for a cold room was probably the best way to go. He slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans from where they lay on the floor, shuddering at the chill. A muffled sound from behind him made him think Angie might have awakened too, but when he turned back for a look she'd all but disappeared beneath the layers of covers in the middle of the big bed.

After restarting the fire he set about his usual morning routine: grabbed a shower (more reason to wash up than usual this morning, he laughed to himself) and a shave, then came back out to make coffee. Coffee first, always. Any thoughts of food would come later. As he'd stood shaving before the mirror he'd noticed a couple of red marks on his left shoulder… Christ, had he really let her do that? Not that he was exercising a whole lot of restraint himself, but he was at least grateful he wouldn't be marching back into camp sporting a hickey in plain sight… he'd definitely have to kill Donovan if he saw something like that. He decided to have to have a word with Angie about it... no marks. Marks were bad for a man in his line of work, and that was the reason he had no tattoos, had had a small birthmark removed years ago, and had managed to avoid getting scarred. Except for that one scar on his face, that nobody could do much about, he was very much an _un_marked man, and liked it that way. Of course what Angie had left him with was different, definitely temporary, but still… shit, he was 43 years old and had spent half his life as a professional hardass. Hickeys were for zit-faced teenagers with more hormones than brains.

When the coffee was ready Tyler poured a mug for himself and set it on the table, then went to a tall cupboard set in the wall at the far end of the room. It wasn't immediately visible to the casual observer, though it wasn't purposely hidden either. Just sort of blended in, like everything else. Opening the door revealed shelf upon shelf of books, many of them old hard-covers, most of them classics. Field manuals and weapons guides could be found on the bottom shelf, having been shoved there to be forgotten on the previous occasions he'd arrived burnt out and sick of his life. He selected a volume from the top shelf and sat down at the table, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. Company took a bit of getting used to up here, but Angie didn't take up much space in any sense of the word. He'd been right, she seemed to fit in just fine. Taking a swill of coffee he opened the book and, though it was far from the first time he'd read this one, he quickly became absorbed.

* * *

_Coffee? COFFEE. _Even through the layers of sheets and blankets and quilts Angie could smell coffee. She poked her face out from under, and also realized the room was warm. She was alone in bed, though it was such a _big_ bed it took a few seconds of rooting around to be sure. She caught a glimpse of Tyler… _Ham…_ his back to her, bent over something at the table. God, how late was it? In spite of everything she felt embarrassed to be seen as a slacker by Ham Tyler. No clothing lay nearby that she could see at first… shit, who knows where her stuff had ended up after he'd "unwrapped" her last night. She spied Tyler's discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and grabbed for it. Feeling a little stupid (considering how well they'd gotten to know every inch of each other) she nonetheless would feel stupider prancing around like a wood nymph, which she certainly did not resemble on her best day. She pulled on the shirt and was dismayed to find its owner was so slender she couldn't button it all the way, it was just too tight.

_Oh yay, there's my panties on the floor._ She pulled those on, and thus imperfectly dressed Angie ventured quietly out of bed and padded barefoot to where Tyler was sitting. He was wearing another of those cotton band-collar shirts like the one she had on, and the way his head was bent forward exposed that spot that she'd always found to be irresistible on any man she'd ever known: that place where the neck curved just behind and below the ear (left or right, she didn't much care), right at the edge of the hairline... she found it especially irresistible on men who kept their hair trimmed close in back.

Tyler jumped at Angie's light kiss, though not because he didn't hear her coming. He'd heard every step. But the way her hair fell down around the back of his neck… _that_ switched on a neural pathway that shot straight to his balls.

"Ow!" Angie yelped and jumped back, holding her nose. "I should know better than to sneak up on a professional; when people say you're dangerous they are not kidding."

"Hey, not my fault this time. C'mere," he stood and examined her nose with exaggerated professionalism. "Let's see," he pinched it gently between two fingers, "feels straight to me. Can you breathe okay?"

He was still holding on. Angie rolled her eyes. "Ib you led _go_ mebbee."

He released her nose and sat to return to his reading. "Coffee's ready, I left a mug for you on the counter." The soft swish of Angie's hair against the back of his neck as she leaned over his shoulder again made Tyler shiver for a second, but he managed not to jerk upright again.

"Gee, sorry I disturbed your concentration." She peered at the book on the table to see what he'd been reading.

"Don't _ever_ apologize for doing something that feels that good," he admonished sternly. He picked up the book and showed it to her.

"Jack London… why am I not surprised?" She took the book, _Martin Eden_, from him and read the back cover. "Hey, I've read this one. I was inspired to look for it after hearing the name in a Tom Waits song."

He blinked at her. "I just like the story."

"Where did it _come_ from, you didn't bring any books." She was off and inspecting the woodwork of the walls for hiding places.

"Wrong wall," he instructed, "look over there, I didn't shut the door tight."

When she pulled the cupboard door open Angie was aghast. "Oh my god, look at all of these," she traced the spines, exclaiming over some of the titles. Mostly fiction, but some history too.

"Jesus, this explains a lot. Can't say I'm surprised though."

"By what," Tyler asked dryly, "the fact that I can read big words? "

"Ha, ha. Oh look," she'd spotted the "professional" stuff on the bottom shelf, and after inspecting it more closely announced, "Hey you told the truth. Not a single copy of Soldier of Fortune. Though I'm wondering how this might come in handy up here," she held up a copy of _Adaptive Uses of C4 Explosives_. Though I'm wondering how this might come in handy up here," she held up a copy of _Adaptive Uses of C4 Explosives_.

"Sometimes I have trouble opening jars," he deadpanned.

"Ah. Silly me, I just run 'em under hot water." Tyler was looking at her that funny way again. "_What_?"

"Just noticing how my shirt looks on you," he mused. She braced herself for the old "it looks better on you baby" cliché, but should have known better. "Looks like an overstuffed sausage casing. Better put on something of your own before you ruin it, I had these made special."

"_Christ_..." she grumbled and pounded away to pick her bag up off the floor and pull other clothes out of it. "Custom van, custom weapons, custom _shirts_, holy shit Tyler, who knew you guys were such _snobs_?"

He appeared behind her and reached his hands around front, "_Careful_, you'll tear those hand-sewn buttonholes..."

It wasn't until she shoved his hands away and whipped around ready to rage that she saw the sly smile on his face.

"Tyler you are a _total_ pain in the ass sometimes."

"Don't tell Gooder that, or he'll think we have something in common." He finished unbuttoning the shirt and ran an index finger from the base of Angie's throat to her belly button and back up again, stopping to tap her chin lightly. "Go on, get dressed. I got plans after breakfast." He went to get eggs and bread from the fridge and set a frying pan on the stove. "You okay with over easy?"

"Sure."

"Thought so... you seemed _fine_ with it last night," he laughed wickedly as he got breakfast ready.

Angie refused to give Tyler the satisfaction of a retort as she went to shower and dress, then sat down at the table to dig into what turned out to be some impressive morning cuisine. Veggie frittata, toast, and _perfect _coffee, damn this man could cook better than most she'd known- "over easy" was obviously a gratuitous straight-line.

She looked at Tyler a little hesitantly. "So, what exactly did you have planned after breakfast? Outdoorsy type stuff, right?" Angie gulped. "You're not thinking it's time for me to learn to hunt, are you? Because I'm not sure I'm ready to graduate from rocks to Bambi."

"Nah I just figured we could murder some fish," he laughed, "There's a stream not far from here... nice trout... what?"

Angie was shaking her head and smiling. "I never figured you for a boy scout."

"Boy scouts don't learn how to bite the heads off," he offered darkly, leaving Angie to hold back a queasy _urp_ as he put the dishes in the sink.

"Look, do you mind if I say I'd rather do something else?"

He stood over her with a grin. "What could be better than biting the heads off of live trout?"

"Tyler, you are a sick bastard." His grin got wider, _gotcha_ it said. "No, I meant that as long as I'm here in a refuge from hell, there's something I'd like to do a whole lot more than tramping through the woods. Something I may not get a chance to do again for a long, long time."

She'd picked up the book again, the one he'd been reading earlier, and when she stood and looked him in the eye again the longing that was written all over her face wiped the smile off of his.

"Can I just read today? Please?" She looked from the book in her hand, to the others on the shelf, and struggled for a way to explain. "See, it's been so _long_, since I could just sit down and _wallow_ in somebody else's words, play with their ideas, with nothing else to think about other than what was right there in front of my eyes. It didn't get around much with all of the other crap going on, but books became dangerous, like they always do when there's anybody occupying anyone else. They weren't confiscated, nope, the Visitors are too smart for that. But I knew from the library that they were being _watched_. What was read, who was reading it, it's nothing new. Like the Cultural Revolution in China, they said you had to be guided and re-educated from your lost ways or whatever bullshit they were spewing to make most people believe it was reasonable. My friends thought because I wasn't meeting them in the dark rooms and alleys and planning raids with them that I was a coward and just didn't care. Okay, so maybe I was a coward and too scared to think I could be some kind of freedom fighter. What I knew was _words_, so what I did was get into the database and change the names around. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what kind of books the Visitors considered 'dangerous' so I just took the names on those and turned 'em in to gibberish. I made up names, I took them from literature." Suddenly she laughed and looked Tyler in the eye, "You have no idea how many dangerous books Elmer Fudd checked out!" He wasn't smiling.

"That took guts." He meant it. How many people were there out there who figured they didn't do squat just because they didn't blow something up or shoot someone down? It had taken him a long time to figure that one out himself; occasionally he still had a hard time remembering it. "They would've caught on sooner or later."

She ignored his assurance. It wasn't what she needed anyway, not right now. She gestured with the book. "This was always _my_ refuge from hell, since I was a kid. It should be easier to get to than yours, shouldn't it? But I just now figured out it might need someplace like this to really work now that hell is everywhere." She saw he was looking at her, _into_ her, with that studious expression again, trying to figure her out without asking. "Sorry, I'm talking crazy again."

"Crazy's the new language," he reminded her quietly, then leaned forward to kiss the side of her head. "You go ahead and enjoy the old one. I'll go play boy scout." He headed off to rummage in the shed for the fishing gear he knew Reno had put there.

"If you bite their heads off I will _never_ kiss you again," Angie warned him and went to rummage for a book... _any_ book.

"I'll brush my teeth after every one," he promised with that sardonic smile, which suddenly morphed to something very serious when he paused by the door. "Angie?"

She looked up from the book she'd selected, a volume of short stories by Twain. As he seldom used her "real name" she wondered what was wrong.

"You're no coward. You ever start to wonder, let me know and I'll tell you again." He was out the door before she could reply.

Angie settled into the armchair by the fire feeling a little bit like the guy in that Twilight Zone story, the one who could get so lost in books that when he finally stuck his head outside his bank vault he found the whole world was gone.

"Got it ass backward this time," she muttered to herself. But the truth was that, with one clear exception, she wouldn't mind at all if she opened the door to find the rest of the world was gone.


	7. Getting clean

Angie very nearly made it to the last page of the third-to-last story in the book before the warmth of the fire, the comfort of the overstuffed armchair, and the sheer sensation of relaxation overtook her. It wasn't dark outside yet, but she could tell it had to be late afternoon. She'd been so absorbed she didn't notice the time, didn't notice being hungry. Tyler said he'd bring back something for supper… trout. She felt a little bit sorry she hadn't gone with him; it had been a long time since she'd gone fishing (even though she never caught anything) and she just wanted to be with him. But this had been a more powerful draw. Too sleepy to finish the book, she laid it carefully on the floor next to the chair then went to crawl into the middle of the bed. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

It had been a good day, Tyler decided as he hiked back to the cabin. Along with his tackle he carried a string of five brook trout of respectable size. Heads attached. The thought made him laugh. "Lips that touch fish heads will never touch mine," he snickered to himself. He admitted to himself that even though it would have been nice if Angie had come along he hadn't minded being off on his own. Maybe that was another thing that made him decide to bring her up here, the fact that he was easy in her company, and easy to leave her on her own. He couldn't say that about very many other people he'd known, male or female.

Dropping his gear on the porch he entered more-or-less quietly because it seemed like the natural thing to do. No need to make lots of noise, no reason to announce his presence (or absence). He'd been ready to wave the whole strung-together clutch of fish for Angie's inspection but drew up short when he saw the chair was empty, the book left on the floor. Once again, it took a minute to locate her. This time she was curled up in the middle of the bed, out like a light. _Christ, that woman can sleep at the drop of a hat_. A recently discovered luxury for her, he remembered. He stuck the fish on a plate and shoved them in the fridge, then washed his hands and sat on the edge of the bed where Angie lay, careful not to wake her. He remembered how startled she'd been earlier when she woke suddenly. She could sleep easier now, but waking could still be driven by past fears and she was getting past it only a step at a time. He watched her for a few minutes, lying on her side with one hand curled under the pillow and the other resting loosely beside it. It had been nice waking up to that this morning; Angie warm and soft and easy against him. Smooth skin, quiet breathing, smelling clean and sweet like that fancy soap and shampoo that Reno had left for her. Another refuge from hell.

Tyler slipped his boots off and stretched out beside Angie, lying on his side to face her. He wanted very badly to touch her, to feel that softness and warmth again, and then he remembered that first night after she'd hooked up with them, when he'd accidentally witnessed her bad dreams. He remembered that touching her head seemed to calm them that time; he'd never questioned why. Maybe it reminded her of someone else. Maybe that married guy she mentioned. It didn't matter, because that guy – David was the name, he remembered – David was dead and she was still alive. He took a chance and opened his hand to lay it lightly against the side of Angie's head and face, wondering too late if in the absence of bad dreams it might have the opposite effect. A small sound escaped her, more questioning than distressed.

"I'm right here, Angel, you're okay," he told her in his quietest voice, with the rough edges smoothed off. The one he'd begun to realize she liked and that was starting to come more naturally on occasion.

Without hesitation Angie moved forward to reach around Tyler's waist and press her face into his neck and shoulder. When he slid his other arm under and around her to press against her back she let out another sound, "mmm," and snuggled closer.

This was something Tyler hadn't experienced since he'd lost his wife. Since then physical contact with a woman consisted of things like self defense, or impersonal sex, or medical attention, or some form of protection. This morning was a rediscovery, waking up with someone who was lying easily against him instead of simply sharing a sleeping surface for convenience sake until one or the other of them could get the hell gone. He rested his chin alongside Angie's head and idly considered this. Though Tyler didn't count it among the things in him that might be "dying for air", it was definitely okay to stay like this for awhile. Quiet and relaxed he could do under the right circumstances (mostly when he came here), but soft and warm was a little beyond him on his own. He shifted slightly toward his back, supporting the back of Angie's head with his hand, and that's when he felt the wetness against his neck. He'd thought she was still asleep, but knew now he was wrong. No change in her breathing betrayed any bad dreams, she was still relaxed in his arms and not holding any tighter. He'd never have known she was crying at all if he couldn't feel the tears on his skin. Now he knew, and he knew why, and there was no way to make the reason go away.

"Don't," he told her. Quiet, no rough edges. Then, "Listen to me… are you listening?" He felt her nod, though she didn't move otherwise. "I know you don't want to go back there. You don't want to go _out_ there. Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here so soon after you woke up to the way things are now. But you need to understand, this isn't a place to stay. It's a place to come to once in a while to get clean. Get it?" She nodded against his shoulder again, no comment, no other movement. "You _sure_? Because if you're not you need to tell me _now_."

Angie moved her face a tiny bit so it wasn't pressed into Tyler's neck anymore. "But if you just kept going, you could still come back here." She said "you", not secure enough with what she was thinking or feeling to say "we" as if it made sense yet. All she knew was that it felt good not to be running, _he_ felt good.

Ham tipped her back a bit to look at her and when he did Angie saw the dark chocolate eyes solid and serious. Uncompromising. "If I just kept going nothing here would ever get me clean again. And where is there to go where the world hasn't gone to hell?" She didn't answer; she didn't have to. "Okay then. It is what it is. I'm glad you're here. _You_ help me get clean, Angel, but don't ask me how and don't ask me _more_ because there's nothing else to say about it. So we'll just say you didn't mean that."

"But I did." _Honest counts as much as clean_.

"Well then we'll _pretend_ you didn't, okay?" His eyebrows were raised, eyes wider, insistent.

"Okay."

He brushed the few remaining tears from her cheek with light fingers. "You shouldn't cry," he told her with one of his patented wry smiles. "It wastes water."

"And stains your custom made shirt." She wasn't smiling but her melancholy mood had passed. Logic had always had too firm a hold on her to allow her to wallow for very long.

Tyler hugged her tight against him for a minute then reared back to kiss the edge of her mouth. She'd noticed he seemed to like to do that sometimes, slightly off-center as if he were missing on purpose. He laughed when he saw Angie licking her lips thoughtfully.

"I guess you did brush your teeth after every one, huh?" she suggested.

"Nah, I just left 'em alone. Wasn't hungry." He let her go and got off the bed, laughing louder as Angie doubled up and exclaimed "Bleahh!" around the fist she'd stuffed in her mouth. She sat up and regarded him in disbelief as he sang to himself in a dark, perversely jolly voice, "Fish heads, fish heads," and pulled a plate from the fridge to show her five trout fanned out with their bug-eyed heads hanging over the edge, "eat them up _yum_." Absolutely straight-faced.

"I'm gonna _puke_," she warned. "And where did you get _that_?" she demanded, meaning the weirdo song.

Tyler snatched the plate away protectively. "Soldier of Fortune Songbook," he deadpanned. "Now get your ass up, we got fish to fry."

* * *

Later that night after another disarmingly casual supper, another bottle of fine wine that seemed to appear from nowhere, Angie finished drying the dishes and went out to where Tyler was leaning on the porch railing looking at the night sky. It was warm tonight, no need for a fire; the singing of the peepers was almost deafening.

She pressed up close behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Angie loved the lean, hard feel of him, knowing what softness he was capable of even if he didn't think of it that way. Or maybe he did. _It is what it is… when he's right, he's right._

Tyler straightened just enough to lift her a bit. "Who'd believe it would feel so good to have a woman on your back."

"Ha, ha." She tried to give him a shake for emphasis, but couldn't budge him. _I never can, can I, except when he wants me to…_.

* * *

Some time later Angie lazed on the floor while Tyler sat in the chair and finished his book. After a while she rolled back to run a hand over his bare foot and up inside the leg of his jeans. He ignored her for a couple of minutes, so she rose up between his knees and poked her head under the book to get in his face, this time running both hands up the insides of his thighs until they rested lightly at the angles of his hips.

Tyler turned the book face down against her back and pegged her with a wide-eyed look.

"Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me."

Impressed by the film reference, she let the age-reversal thing slide (he was, after all, about ten years her senior as near as she could figure). "Can't get nuthin by you."

"Not much." But he resisted when she tried to draw him down onto the rug.

"Uh-uh, not on the floor." He scooped her up in his arms so abruptly she let out a squeak of surprise. "Exactly… that's where the _mice_ do it." He carried her across the room. "Floors are for animals," he laid her down in the middle of the bed, "_beds_ are for people."

_He really is a little old fashioned in some ways_, Angie mused as he stretched out to lean over her. _Or maybe he's still making up for the past._

"Lemme guess," she asked, "you're not in a rush _tonight,_ either?"

He was already working his way along her collarbone, _sloowwwly_, one hand clearing the way by pulling aside the neck of her t shirt, as the other hand inched underneath from the bottom.

"I'm never," a warm wet kiss under her ear, "_never_," an equally warm hand spread along her stomach, pinkie brushing its way along her belly button, "in a rush." After exploring her mouth deeply and languorously Tyler raised his head an inch or so, getting his hands busy elsewhere. "You got a problem with that?" His voice was stern but his expression was keenly attentive, looking for a reaction.

Angie jumped as his left hand slid inside her jeans he'd just worked open, fingers traveling along and under the leg of her panties to dawdle and play in their favorite place (though it was obvious to her by now his "favorite" places changed from moment to moment).

The "Nope," she managed to gasp was swallowed up in another kiss.

"Good," and the growl in his voice almost set her off right then and there, "because I'm tired of reading." Tyler rolled half over her, pressing one hand deeper as the other inched her shirt upwards and meandered (thought not aimlessly, oh no) over her breasts. When Angie gave up a breathy whimper he smiled against her face, "You never disappoint me, Angel."

And he continued, at his great leisure, not to disappoint her.

* * *

By the time he had the cabin secured and everything where it should be for Reno to pick up or replace, Tyler saw Angie had her hair tied up under the bandanna and her helmet in hand. He had something folded up in one hand that he'd found tossed carelessly under the bed. "You forgot your pj's. No sense in letting 'em go _entirely _to waste." He winked as he stuffed them in her rucksack and reattached it to the back of the bike. Angie was staring around them, taking in a last look. Dry-eyed, he noticed.

"You ready?"

"No," she answered honestly before jamming her helmet on.

"Me neither. Let's go."

He climbed on the bike and moved up to give her room as she got on behind. When she grabbed on around his middle he offered, "Two pockets still available, no charge." It wasn't much, but it was something.

Angie smiled and slid her hands in, grabbing onto his belt through the lining of the jacket. This time she didn't miss a breath as he kicked the bike into life and they roared off.

* * *

"It's 9:30, where's that bomb throwing friend of yours?" Mike Donovan demanded of Chris Farber. The latter barely spared him a look from the gun he was cleaning at the saloon table.

"Morning ain't over yet."

Moments later the rough hum of a motorcycle could be heard approaching from beyond the "motor pool" barn.

"Right on time," Chris drawled, casting a casual eye out the window, then settling it on Donovan. "Not that you had any doubts."

Though there were no more details to review for the raid on his mother's house that evening, a brief meeting had been scheduled for noontime for the participants. Donovan strode out the door, planning to catch Tyler as he came out of the barn, but something caught his eye. Both the huge front doors and the smaller rear ones had been left open for good visibility so the usual watch could be spared, giving everyone a chance to rest up before the night's work. In the light that filled the barn Mike saw Tyler get off the bike then reach an arm out to steady someone else who dismounted after him. The helmets came off, and as the pair stood in profile Donovan recognized Angie even with her hair up under a bandana.

_That sonofabitch, "business up country" my ass. He and that computer geek took off for a little freelance recreation, with everything hanging on the edge of "go"._

He was about to take a leap off the wooden porch and voice his disapproval for all the camp to hear when a bearish hand caught him by the back of the shirt.

"Bad idea, friend."

Donovan turned to see the normally placid face of Tyler's "associate" hardened into the kind of look you'd imagine would underline the words "Bad idea."

"Well doesn't it bother you that while we've been sweating bullets here for the past two days _he's_ been off getting laid, and who knows what else?" Donovan wanted to know. Farber's look didn't change except to harden a little more.

"What bothers me is you talking about a nice young lady like she's a piece of road meat. Now I think it would be a _good_ idea if you just let it go and have your meeting as scheduled. If we say we're gonna help, that's all you need to know."

"Fine." While Mike felt he was saying that a little too often where Tyler and Farber were concerned, he also figured making trouble at this stage was a very _bad_ idea.

Satisfied that "Gooder" wasn't going to stir things up, Chris went back to cleaning the guns he'd taken out of their inventory, leaving Donovan where he was.

* * *

After they'd parked in the barn and Angie had found her land legs again she pulled off her helmet and quipped, "Say goodbye to the biker chick, Tyler."

He undid the knot in the bandana and rearranged her hair. "Something tells me she ain't gone for good. But sounds like I can say goodbye to my first name again."

"Not in _every_ circumstance," Angie smiled up at Ham and impulsively pulled herself closer to press her face into him. She liked that he didn't tower over her, just the right height to put her face just where she wanted it to be, against his neck near that place she couldn't resist. She felt, rather than heard, his quiet laugh and after a moment let him step back.

"Good idea. Hold it in reserve for special occasions." When she laughed appreciatively at that he added, "Don't hold _that_ in reserve though, we're gonna need more of it around here soon." He punctuated by planting a kiss between her eyes. There seemed to be nothing more to explain, or understand.

* * *

Donovan had taken another look toward the barn in time to see Ham Tyler, The Fixer, the master bomber/government contract killer/stone cold mercenary, untying the bandana from Angie Harper's head with one hand and smoothing down her hair with the other. A moment later he saw Angie step into Tyler's arms and the two of them stand there still as statues for the next few seconds, until Tyler stepped back and kissed her on the forehead. _On the forehead?_ Mike was still (reluctantly) getting his head around the idea that any woman could find Tyler remotely attractive enough to run away with for an hour, let alone a few days; he was having an even harder time imagining Tyler treating anyone at all with anything resembling tenderness or affection. Oh he knew the man had been married, and believed the loss of his family had burnt out any human feeling he'd ever had… if he'd ever really had it. Then Julie's words from a couple of days ago came back to him, after he'd snorted "What's a computer geeky woman like that doing with him? You think he cares about her? That's not the Ham Tyler I know," and she'd told him maybe that was the Tyler somebody _else_ knew and who was he to judge anyway?

* * *

As Tyler and Angie parted and walked toward the front door of the barn Donovan turned quickly to walk back into the saloon muttering to himself, "That is _definitely_ the Ham Tyler somebody _else_ knows."

"So you think we should go out separately or something?" Angie asked Tyler as they walked toward the front door of the barn. She scanned the street, nobody much around. She thought she saw the back of Mike Donovan disappearing into the saloon door.

"Hell yeah, my reputation is already shady enough." He turned a wicked smile to Angie's gathering protest, then stopped and asked her honestly. "You tell me."

She looked around the camp again and thought for a second or two, then shrugged and matched Ham's wicked smile with one of her own. "I say fuck 'em." Tyler's eyes widened a little at that. "Hey, I've always wanted to have a shady reputation, saves time to get it by association. Don't look so shocked, Tyler, I _told_ you I was a quick study."

"Guess I shoulda believed you the first time," he admitted as he followed her out the door.

By this time Donovan was coming out again as casually as he could manage and trying not to stare.

"Hey Gooder!" Angie yelled to him when he was still a distance away. "Willie and I have work to do after you crack your mother's safe. Did you set up some work space like you promised, or have you been lounging around polishing your halo since then?"

Plainly taken aback, Mike assured her with an edge in his voice, "You're set up in the train cars on the other side of camp. We moved some sleeping quarters there too, Ruby moved your stuff yesterday."

"Great!" she replied as she and Tyler met Mike in the middle of the street. "Time someone started learning how to _really_ mess these Visitors up from the _inside_, instead of just lobbing things at 'em from the outside."

This rendered _both_ Tyler and Donovan speechless as Angie took off at a run.

"You been coaching her, Tyler? That's not the shut-up-tight computer geek that slunk into L.A. behind you and your 'associate'."

Tyler quickly shifted his smile to a smirk for Donovan's benefit. "Just keeping the right company now, Gooder."

As they headed toward the saloon for the final planning meeting Donovan asked with a casual air, "So, _now _is it safe for me to call her your girlfriend?"

Tyler's narrow squint preceded his cold reply.

"It'd be _safer_ for you to call her Angie."


End file.
